


Sons Our Fathers Wanted

by skullshy



Series: Sons and Fathers [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: For Want of a Nail, Gen, Good Severus Snape, Severitus, Severus Snape Adopts Harry Potter, ambition is after all, do not determine our alignment, doesn't mean you are evil, just because you are cunning and ambitious, than the story of redemption, that dark becomes light and light becomes dark, that the circumstances of our birth, the darkest of regimes, there is nothing more powerful, to me, what dismantles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-25 06:26:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13828407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skullshy/pseuds/skullshy
Summary: This is the story of how Severus Snape became the father of one Harry James Potter.





	1. Hollow Bones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve had this festering in my mind for a very long time. I still feel, and I will always feel, that Snape did not get the redemption arc that he deserved. I believe quite strongly that even villains deserve a second chance to make things right, and that the choice should be done well by the author and not shoehorned into the narrative at the very end.
> 
> Rowling will always live and write in a world bad guys are bad guys and good guys are good guys, and the difference between the two is always clearly delineated, without saturnalian possibilities. I respect that.
> 
> However, I live in a world where my enemies become my bedfellows, my demons lurk equally in the light of day as they do the dark, and those things I counted upon as good and loyal become tarnished and profane. 
> 
> In this strange and uncertain world, I lie in the laps of my nemeses and feed them the fruit of light and hope, that they may devour all that haunts our world.

 

Dumbledore goes to Godric's Hallow, that fateful night, instead of Severus. Severus is delayed by murdering Peter Pettigrew for betraying Lily.

This sequence of events changes everything.

Voldemort is there, waiting for Dumbledore. He does not kill Harry, not yet. Voldemort and Dumbledore duel.

Dumbledore kills Voldemort, as much as one can kill a wizard with as many horcruxes.

And Voldemort kills Dumbledore. It's a much more permanent affair.

 

Without his loyal servant, the Dark Lord is much slower to rise again.

Without Dumbledore, corruption of the wizarding world is slow, but just as sinister and hard to get rid of, like a bloodstain that grows mold, resurfacing with a vengeance every summer.

Severus cries over Lily's body. When he finishes, he places Lily next to the man she loved, and takes their son.

\--

A few hours later, he and Minerva are standing on the driveway of Number 4 Privet Drive. For some reason, Harry is sleeping in his arms, and Severus is strangely reluctant to give up the heavy weight on his shoulder.

"We must," Minerva insists. "The instructions Albus left—"

She sniffs and dabs her eyes with a handkerchief.

"Petunia is ill-fit to be a mother, let alone to Lily's son," Severus protests.

He doesn't know why he is against this plan, but something about all of this feels very wrong to him.

Minerva swallows.

Severus notes with dread that she does not contradict him, and for an instant, his grip on the child tightens. He forces himself to loosen it.

"Surely, Black could—"

Minerva shakes her head. "We can't find him. We think that Peter killed him, too."

She gives a sad hiccup at this, and has to steady herself.

Eventually, she pulls Harry out of Severus' white fingers.

She puts Harry in a basket, and leaves him on the front stoop of the Dursley's house.

 

"The magic, Severus, will protect him, no matter how..."

 

"..how unloved he may be."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay I'm back. :D I wasn't expecting to finish this until May, but I fortunately I was able to figure out an ending for this one and post it. 
> 
> I didn't know this until after I had finished this particular fanfic, but apparently there is a whole sub-genre around Severus being a parent called "Severitus". I'm glad, however, that I finished this before I read anyone else's ideas, because otherwise I might have been too intimidated to post this. XD If you have favorite "Severitus" fics, or can explain why exactly it's called "Severitus", please post below. I wanna know. :D


	2. Hollow Homes

Without Dumbledore to protect him, things quickly go south for Severus. The Ministry of Magic is determined to prove that Severus was working for the Dark Lord, and should be punished for it. (They are not wrong).

The Death Eaters are certain that Severus had something to do with the Dark Lord’s disappearance, as he was absent just prior and just after. (They are not entirely wrong on this, either).

Severus had already packed all of his books and potion materials into a bag charmed with an Undetectable Extension Charm, so none of his belongings are torched.

But watching Spinner’s End burst into flames is disconcerting, nevertheless.

He feels upset that the house is gone, and then feels angry and ashamed.

He’s wanted to burn the damn thing down a long time ago—set fire to kitchen sink where he nursed his bruises, coat the cupboards in rum and whiskey, the Muggle’s favorite drink of choice, splinter the stair where his mother cried and rocked herself back and forth.

But having the choice taken out of his hands feels like it always does:

Vulnerable.

Weak.

 _Despicable_.

Severus’ upper lip curls.

He disappears into the night, his cloak snapping in the air behind him.

\--

He is hunted relentlessly for five long years.

The only reason that he is not caught and tortured is due to his skill as a potion master and his wits.

During his exile, the Ministry of Magic becomes a frustration and an inconvenience.

The Death Eaters are neither of these.

The men and women whom Lestrange sends after Severus prove to be almost fatal on many occasions.

The manhunt by the Death Eaters is only called off because the incompetant Ministry of Magic finally manages to catch some Death Eaters, which sates the Ministry’s bloodlust and restores their image to the public. The most relentless of Severus’ pursuers are locked in Azkaban, unable to hunt him with inches of his life.

But the last five years have taken a deep toll on Severus.

His right knee is damaged beyond the repair of spells and potions. He has a limp now, and his knee aches fiercely every time it rains.

His face was ugly before, and but now it is scarred and hideous. He has two scars against his lip and another, deep and jagged, across his eyebrow that just nicks the corner of his eye. He has other burns and scars all over his body to completment the ones on his face.

He is gaunt and skeletal, which does not help his looks either.

He comes back to Britain to live out the rest of his miserable life, always listening for any rumors of the Dark Lord rising again.

He sleeps in carparks and the backs of sheds, head ducked low and greasy hair hiding his scarred face.

Severus does not deserve shelter— he does not deserve safety.

Not after what he has done.

Not after what he has seen.

 

But shelter finds him regardless.

He stumbles upon an old Scottish baronial manor. The roof is partially caved in, nature has overtaken its walls, and weather has torn at its faces.  
  
What particularly catches his eye is a half buried stone marker, no taller than his knee—  
  
_Algiz._  
  
Protection. Safety.  
  
He limps his way to the house, and wrenches open the crooked door. The kitchen and butler’s pantry are revealed— and the floor is mercifully dry. He pulls a ratted blanket out of his enchanted bag, and falls asleep on the cracked linoleum floor.

 

The next morning, sunlight falls across his face like a prayer for clemency.

Perhaps…

Perhaps he could stay here awhile, and catch his breath.

Old runes protect this place, and it will be a while before anyone thinks to look for him.

 

His blanket warms in the sun, and he thinks about Lily.

 

He knew, deep inside, that his romantic feelings for her could never have been realized. For how can one confess their love to the sun? To the vast, unending brightness of the stars?

He thought about Lily’s son, and wondered what life was like with Petunia Dursley as a mother. He thought that perhaps he could look in on Lily’s son, to keep his promise to Lily.

 

To remind himself of the light of the sun, even though he could no longer stand next to its brilliance.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters are kind of short (this fic over all will be a bit short), but I'm hoping you will all enjoy nevertheless. Cooking up some angst muffins after this-- we'll see where that takes me. XD


	3. Broken Windows

He finds himself at Number 4 Privet Drive the next day.

Severus had turned on the sink that morning, to find that it still poured out rust-flecked water. He had cleaned himself the best he could, using an old soap cake and a comb with broken teeth.

His clothes are still a disgrace, but that could be dealt with later.

Severus Apparates to a nearby playground, absent of children just before dawn. Clinging to the early morning shadows, he finds his way to the backyard of Number 4, and tucks himself in the hedges.

He watches the entire day.

Severus has not felt this angry in a long time, and and it burns through him like a catharsis.

Harry Potter is five, and he flinches away from his cousin, Dudley. 

Severus knows that flinch— it is the flinch one learns after many long years of dodging blows. And Harry does get hit, unceasingly. His uncle hits him over the head with his meaty arms, his aunt boxes his ears and his cousin enjoys nothing more than to hunt Harry out and beat the lights out of him.

Each blow is like a nail through Severus’ heart. 

How could this have been Dumbledore’s plan? How could Dumbledore have trusted that the Dursleys would treat Harry well?

At five years old, Harry Potter had bruises all over his body, and knows how to get down on his knees and scrub the floors. 

Severus waits until Mr. Dursley leaves for work and Mrs. Dursley is distracted with her soaps before he breaks into the Dursley house. He has no issue with confronting such despicable excuses for human beings— but he wants this to be quiet, for his presence to go unnoticed. It’s safer for him and it’s safer for Harry if the Dursleys don’t know what happened, even though Severus wants vengeance so badly he can taste it on his tongue.

Dudley had been put down for a nap, but Harry was still awake, leaning into the kitchen cabinets and trying not to doze off.

Severus said a quick Alohomora on the back door, and slides into the kitchen.

Harry stares at him with big eyes, his thumb in his mouth. Unlike most children, he does not scream or run away when he sees a stranger in his kitchen. Harry merely watches Severus, as if every new thing was to met with resigned misery.

Not fear, not curiosity.

Just resignation.

Severus kneels down so that he did not tower over Harry.

“Hello, Harry,” he says in a voice barely above a whisper. “I’m a friend of your mother’s.”

Harry continues to suck his thumb and says nothing.

Severus wonders if Harry has delayed speech from the abuse, or if he is naturally just reticent to speak. His heart pounds in his chest.

“Do you have a blanket, or some toys?” Severus asks. “I need you to grab them.”

Harry nods his head for the first, and shakes his head for the second. 

Of course Petunia wouldn’t let Lily’s son have even a single toy.

Harry totters over to the cupboard under the stairs, standing on tiptoe to open the door.

Inside the cupboard is enough to confirm Severus’ suspicious. There is ratty blankets and pillows on the floor that make up Harry’s bed. Severus would not let a dog lie on the blankets, let alone a five year old child. Harry is too small to pull the light cord, so he stumbles around in the dark, knocking over spiders and dusty shoeboxes.

Harry pulls out a ragged red blanket, the same that he had been wrapped in as an infant, delivered to his own personal hell. Harry wraps the blanket around his skinny, bruised shoulders.

Harry puts his thumb back in his mouth and looks up at Severus again.

“I need to hold you in my arms, for this part,” Severus tells Harry. “I promise I will not hurt you.”

Harry does not like this; he lets out a soft whine as he is pulled against Severus’ chest. 

Severus has no idea how to comfort him; his tongue was bitter at birth, and has only become more acrid in his unhappy life. He tries to think of what he would have found comforting as a child, but even to his own ears his “you’re fine” and “everything will be alright” sound stilted.

Severus Apparates out of the Dursley house, Harry tucked in his arms, and a yawning pit of despair in his stomach.

—

Immediately upon arriving to his ramshackle safehouse, Severus berates himself. He has taken Harry out of a house with a roof and running water to a half-rotted manor without either.

What was he thinking, that he could take care of Harry?

But each time he contemplates returning Harry, he can’t do it. He only needs to see the bruises poking out of Harry’s too large shirt for his resolve to crumble. 

He feeds Harry a grilled cheese sandwich and some withered grapes. Then he lays Harry down for a nap with Severus’ coat, in what was once a dining room.

Severus rummages through his Undetectable Expansion bag for transfiguration books, and gets started on making the manor at least passably livable.

 

 


	4. Broken Spines

 

One month passes, then two— then six. Harry begins filling out, gaining desperately need weight until his chest no longer resembles a birdcage. He still does not speak to Severus, but he does eat and sleep regularly.

Severus buys him secondhand muggle toys, because anything that moves quickly scares Harry, and Harry eventually begins playing with them. Harry’s favorite is a lopsided stuffed animal rabbit that he drags with him everywhere he goes. Harry eats and sleeps with the rabbit at his side, and wanders the mansion with its mangy ear in his clench fist.

Severus has given up cleaning the rabbit; he shoots a Scourgify spell at it every other week when Harry is asleep so that it will at least not smell terrible.

Severus has converted the drawing room into a potions laboratory. He began a potion mail-order business, in part to stay close to Harry and in part because he had missed making potions. The business keeps them afloat and allows Severus to buy groceries and clothes for Harry, and supplies to fix up the mansion. While Severus makes potions, Harry goes outside to play, or roams the halls of the mansion. 

Severus has put protection and alarm spells on a bracelet around Harry’s wrist, and warned Harry to never take it off. Harry nods solemnly and does not ever touch the bracelet, not even to loosen its strands. Severus can see the location of the bracelet on a parchment in his lab, which he checks while brewing potions or chopping up ingredients.

Severus is mincing dittany when a sudden noise startles him.

“Papa!”

Severus blinks and turns around. 

Harry stands in the doorway, clutching his rabbit, whose arm is dangling off. 

“Papa,” Harry repeats, and brings the bunny to Severus. 

“I am not your father, Harry,” Severus says, his throat thick with guilt and grief, with things that could have been and were no longer possible. “I am only a friend of your mother’s.”

Harry shakes his head.

“Papa,” he repeats.

Severus tries again several times, but after each explanation he gives, Harry shakes his head and says, “Papa”.

Severus gives up. He supposes that he should be grateful that Harry is speaking— except that is the only word that Harry will utter.

Severus buys books on how to care for abused children, but he doesn’t encourage Harry to speak as much as he could have. Severus remembers silence, and how it was his only strength. He is loathe to take that away from Harry, no matter what the books say.

At seven, Harry learns to read— and he is as voracious a reader as his mother was. Severus catches Harry reading tomes larger than his head, and puts some magic and fantasy novels in Harry’s room. Severus is not sure whether or not Harry will develop magic himself, after the kind of childhood he has had, but he knows how comforting it is to find solace in world of books. Especially those in which even the smallest becomes the most extraordinary.

As Harry learns to read, he slowly begins speaking— at first one or two words, and then phrases. He does not speak in full sentences until he is eight. Severus thinks Harry will always be shy and a slow speaker, but there is no harm in this, when the world is full of men who ruin friendships and lives with their quick tongues.

As Harry begins speaking, he begins asking questions, questions that Severus is ill-equipped to answer. 

 

Harry wants to know who his parents were, why Severus has scars on his face. What is a potion and why does Severus make them? Why does he remember a green flash of light and screaming, but nothing else?

Eventually, Severus has to sit Harry down— he cannot bear to lie to the child, but he also knows that Harry is not developmentally ready to understand the full story.

Harry sits in Severus’ lap, even though he is growing too big for such a gesture. Bun-Bun is still gripped in Harry’s fist, although the grubby stuffed rabbit is now missing an ear that fell into a cauldron and was irretrievable. 

Harry beams up at Severus, his small head resting on Severus’ shoulder, innocent and trusting. 

Severus almost lies— it is so very hard, when no one has ever loved and trusted him, that he is forced to turn this love and trust away, because of the mistakes of his past. But he thinks of the look of betrayal that Harry will give him when he is older, and Severus steels himself, that the words come out unimpeded.

“I was not a good man, Harry,” Severus begins. “I abandoned your mother, who was one of my only friends, and joined a very bad group, because I was angry and hurt.”

Severus lifts his sleeve to show Harry his Dark Mark— cold now, but once thriving and vile.

“If you ever seen anyone with this mark on their arm, you are to run as fast as you can in the opposite direction, do you understand me?” 

Harry nods, and then placed his hand over the Mark, covering it with his own fingers.

“But you aren’t bad now, are you?” Harry asks.

Severus’ chest aches. What was he supposed to say to that? 

That he suspected that somewhere deep down he was always evil, and could not be changed? That no matter how hard he tried to redeem himself, he ended up slipping? That his “goodness” was no better than a bandage to staunch his guilt?

“I am trying to become better,” Severus croaks out.

Harry beams up at him. “Good. I’m trying to be good everyday, too,” he announces to Severus. “But sometimes it’s hard, like when I don’t want to go to bed.”

Severus laughs, and it sounds bitter. That such a sweet, beautiful child could be capable of great evils? He hopes not. He knows that Harry has Lily’s kindness and love, forces as incorruptible as the moon. He also knows that Harry carries with him the same reckless and ruthless spirit that taunted Severus all throughout Hogwarts— and something else, something unspeakable, that marks him as the Dark Lord’s equal.

Harry puts his arms around Severus’ neck, and it feels a little like salvation.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some feels to soothe your soul on this gloomy morning.


	5. Hidden Eyes

 

Harry does not present any accidental magic until he is nine years old. In typical Potter fashion, it is loud and alarming.

Severus is tying off orders to several owls, to send off his latest set of potion orders. It seems that he is the only potion master who is discreet and can brew a wolfsbane potion— by word of mouth, he suddenly has a great deal of monthly customers who struggle with lycanthrophy. While this has favorably increased his sales, he is forced to spend less time supervising Harry than perhaps he’d like to.

Harry has always been fairly self-reliant, and little-to-no-trouble (Severus can think of quite a few first year students who could have learned much from Harry’s poise and self-restraint).

So Severus is not quite as worried as he should be, leaving Harry to his own devices.

Severus is about to tie off the last order, when a large explosion shakes the entire house. He drops everything— and he can’t find his wand. It was lying on his desk, on top of his papers, while he was wrapping packages, and it is now gone. Panic throbbing through his chest, he grabs his spare wand and runs in the direction of the explosion.

What if Death Eaters had laid siege to their house, and kidnapped Harry?

Severus streaks around the corner and bolts down the hall. In front of him, he can see that the southern part of the house has been blown apart, the greenhouse torn to shreds, with great sprays of dirt over the floors and furniture.

He sees a dark haired head pop up, a guilty expression on his face. In Harry’s hand is Severus’ wand.

Severus comes to halt right in front of Harry, and bends down to his height. 

“Are you hurt?” he croaks out.

Harry shakes his head, tears fill his eyes.

Severus embraces Harry, holding him tight against his chest.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” Severus whispers. “Don’t you dare.”

Harry cries into Severus’ arms. 

“I’m sorry, Papa,” he sobs. “‘m sorry, won’t do it again.”

“Do you know how dangerous that could have— no, of course you don’t,” Severus interrupts himself. 

Harry doesn’t understand how important it is that he remains hidden, because Severus hasn’t told him about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and the Fall of the Dark Lord.

“Come into the kitchen, sweetheart,” Severus tells him. “I need some tea to fortify myself for this conversation.”

Harry follows Severus into the kitchen, and Severus hoists him up to sit on the counter next to the sink. While the water is boiling, Severus takes a damp kitchen towel and wipes away the tears and dirt from Harry’s face. When the water is finished, he pours himself a cup of builder’s tea so strong one could stand a spoon in it.

“Your parents died fighting against a very bad man,” Severus begins, stirring his tea bag.

“Voldemort, right?” Harry asks.

Severus almost chokes on his tea.

“Don’t say his name aloud!” he retorts. “Where did you hear that… that word?”

“I read about it in one of your books,” Harry says, blithely unaware of the terror and revulsion that name brings to Severus.

That, of course, is the issue with a curious and voracious reader; they always end up reading things that they shouldn’t have.

“On the night your parents died, he tried to kill you as well,” Severus continues.

Harry reaches up to rub the scar at the top of his forehead, hidden by his bangs. 

“Yes,” Severus tell him, “That is the scar— from his efforts to kill you.”

Harry’s lip quivers, and then he steels himself to be brave, like the son of Gryffindors that he is.

“Why does he want to kill me?” Harry wants to know.

“There was a… a prophecy,” Severus admits. “That you would be the one to defeat him.”

“But I don’t have any magic,” Harry protests. “How can it be, that I’m supposed to defeat him?”

“You most certainly do have magic, as evidenced by the explosion in the greenhouse,” Severus retorts dryly.

“Oh,” says Harry. “I thought I was a Squib— I mean, I’ve never done any magic before.”

“Where did you hear— oh, never mind.”

Severus vows that he will comb through his books quite thoroughly and remove any that aren’t of appropriate subject matter. Merlin forbid Harry reads through his tomes on Dark Magic or curses— learning about Voldemort and blood-purism on his own is bad enough. 

Severus takes another sip of tea, mulling his thoughts over.

“Does this mean you’ll train me to use magic?” Harry asks, not entirely able to keep the eagerness out of his voice.

“You will learn magic from Hogwarts, which you will attend a few years from now,” Severus explains. “But… that is not a terrible idea, to teach you some magic early.”

“Really?” Harry squeaks out. “When? When can we start?”

“After I finish my potion orders,” Severus insists, helping Harry down from the counter.

Harry hugs Severus’ legs.

“Love you, Papa,” he mumbles, and races off.

Severus nearly drops his teacup. 

Love?

 

Dear Merlin.

 

He knows how to brew the most difficult curses, how to survive Cruciatus and a thousand other torments. 

But love is as unknown to him as the stars are to the sea.

He hold his hand over his throbbing heart, and wills it not to beat so hard.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always thought it was silly for wizards and witches to have just one wand-- even in the books, there are a great deal of situations in which having a back-up wand would have solved a lot of problems. 
> 
> So I imagine that Severus would definitely have a few extra wands, just to be prepared for anything. :D


	6. Hidden Minds

 

Dumbledore’s original plan was to have Harry grow up as non-magically as possible— with no idea of his fame or special nature. Severus originally agreed to this with aplomb, hoping that it would keep Harry from becoming a fat-head like his father. Surely the less Harry knew, the less he could bully other students, break rules, and get into reckless, death-defying trouble?

But now Severus is not certain. Knowledge is power, and Harry needs all the power he can get if he wants to live until his eighteenth birthday, let alone defeat the Dark Lord. There are so many things that could go wrong— assassination attempts by Death Eaters, or his fellow students; poison in his cup or a Portkey in his backpack, a curse in a back street of Diagon Alley—

Something about leaving Harry defenseless, unaware that the Dark Lord and his followers will hunt him down, makes Severus want to vomit.

Severus starts off with simple defensive spells, ones that every first-year student will eventually learn and know. Severus drills him until Harry can put up a Protego in his sleep— and Severus interrupts his sleep several times to make sure that this is Harry’s gut reaction to someone invading his room.

Harry does abysmal at identifying common poisons, and cannot do even the basics of Occulumency, though he tries very hard. His Transfigurations and Charms are barely passable, though Severus patiently instructs him dozens of times.

This makes Severus feel better about the prodigal nature of Harry’s spell casting. 

Harry is adept at almost any defensive or offensive spell he learns. 

His Expelliarmus is alarming.

His Stupefy could knock out grown men and women.

Even his most basic hexes, the kind school boys cast at each other, are at a level far beyond what his age should be able to cast. 

Harry isn’t even using a wand made for him— he uses one of Severus’ spares, that he keeps around in case of emergencies.

Severus feels a strange mixture of fear and pride, and wonders if this was how Dumbledore felt. Unlike Dumbledore, however, Severus has paid the ultimate price of giving into fear; he understands the consequences of fear more than any other wixen, perhaps. How it ruins lives, stripes one away from everything one has ever loved. 

Severus tells himself that Harry will not become another Voldemort, because Harry has love.

It is a precarious hope, one that hangs in the balance.

Until Harry tips that balance.

They are practicing Occulmency, more out of habit than a desire for improvement. Harry accidentally scries into Severus’ mind, at the exact moment Severus is trying to push away some of his darker memories.

When Severus comes to himself, he is sitting on the floor, with Harry’s small hand reaching towards him, to wipe the tears off of his cheeks. 

Severus blinks, and all he can see are Harry’s bottle-green eyes, so much like Lily’s. 

“I’m sorry they tormented you so much,” Harry was saying. “Dudley was like that, too.”

Severus barely manages to conceal his surprise. Harry has never talked about his home-life before Severus, not even once. Severus never asked Harry about it, because he himself still has trouble talking about the bullying that plagued his time at Hogwarts. 

Something ugly and vile rises in Severus—

“That was your father, do you know that?” Severus spits at Harry.

Severus leaps to his feet, shame washing through him. It is not Harry’s fault, Harry had nothing to do with any of this, Severus should be able to separate the father from the son; look at his own father, after all—

“I know,” Harry says, not hurt but concern for Severus on his face. “I have his hair.”

“I apologize, I should have not—”

But Severus doesn’t get to finish his apology, because Harry interrupts him, tugging on the sleeve of his dark robes.

“And I have her eyes, the man in Diagon Alley said so,” Harry continues.

Severus vows to never take Harry out shopping for potion ingredients again, even under disguises, so help him Merlin—

“But I’m not them, right? I’m my own person, and I know that,” Harry adds. “But sometimes I wish I could have known them, even though they weren’t the best of people.”     

“They were the best of people,” Severus shoots back. “Do not allow my personal experience of your father to cloud your judgment. They were both exceedingly brave and loved you very much.”

Harry thinks about this for some time, a far-off look on his face.

“Did they love me like you love me?” Harry wants to know. 

Severus kneels down and hugs Harry. 

 

“More, even,” he tells his son.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was the reason it took me seven months to finish this.
> 
> Mmm dialogue is hard for me. I'm still working on it. The longest I've ever gone without dialogue was 1908 words, in my first fanfic, SOTM.


	7. Hurting and Healing

 

Harry receives his Hogwarts letter on July 31, late into the evening.

He is at last eleven years old.

Harry whoops when he sees it, and snatches it out of the air as the owl drops it and flies away. He then runs into Severus’ potions laboratory, banging open the door.

Luckily, Severus is doing inventory, not potion-making; the only mishap is an inkwell spilling all over the floor, which is fixed with a Scourify.

“Papa, it’s my Hogwarts letter!”

Severus smiles, although he wants to cry. He puts down his quill on his desk. 

He knew this moment was coming for a long time. Now that the moment is here, he wishes he could yank back the years like a blanket, covering what the future will hold for just a bit longer.

“What have I told you about barging in?” he chides gently.

“Oops, sorry,” Harry says, before returning to waving the letter in Severus’ face.

“Well?” Severus insists. “Why don’t you open it?”

Harry holds still long enough to break open the wax seal on the back of the letter. 

Then he freezes.

He looks up at Severus with huge, terrified eyes. 

“There’s a tracking spell on the letter,” he whispers.

Severus wills himself not to look away. 

“Yes, sweetheart,” he tells Harry. “The Ministry will be coming for you within the hour.”

Tears surface in young Harry’s eyes, and he scrubs at them with his hand.

“You knew?” Harry croaks out.

Severus nods.

Harry launches himself at Severus, gripping him in a hug so tight that it leaves Severus gasping. Harry is now up to Severus’ chin, and he no longer has to lean down to hug the boy.

“ _Why?_ ” he sobs.

“It’s for your own safety,” Severus explains. “I cannot appear to be your father— there are too many who still suspect my motives, who would use me to hurt you. You will be safer at Hogwarts, and you will not have to go home to your aunt and uncle.”

Harry backs away, looking hard at Severus’ face.

“I will see you again, won’t I?” he asks, tears streaming down his face.

Severus plants a kiss on Harry’s forehead. 

“I promise. When this is all over, you will see me again.”

Severus holds tight to his son, and pretends that his heart is not shattering into a hundred million pieces.

—

The entire Auror department shows up to take Harry into protective custody. They find him sitting on a bus stop bench just outside of the Leaky Cauldron. 

It is dusk; the shadows deep and the last rays of sun dipping below the horizon. The air is cool— it will be fall soon, though summer is not yet over.

Harry is wearing a cloak, and has a trunk next to him. 

He kicks his feet as he waits. 

Finally Shacklebolt and Moody approach Harry. Moody keeps a look out, while Shacklebolt kneels to meet Harry’s eyes.

“Hello, son,” he says. “We’ve been looking for you for a long time.”

Harry nods.

“Yeah, I know,” Harry remarks with a cheeky grin. “Sorry about the wait.”

Moody and Shacklebolt exchange unreadable looks.

Moody puts a scarred hand on Harry’s shoulder. 

“Why don’t we get you to the safe house, hmm?” Moody insists. “I don’t like the look of the dark.”

“Can someone take me to get school supplies, though? Maybe later this week?” Harry asks. “Only, I got my Hogwarts letter today, and I don’t have a pewter cauldron.”

Both of them eye Harry with trepidation. 

Whatever they had been expecting, it wasn’t this.

The boy seems normal, and well-adjusted— and even knew already about the wizarding world.

“I’m sure we can have that arranged,” Shacklebolt says. “Come now, let’s get you off the street.”

Moody grabs his trunk for him, and he walks with them to a black Ministry car.

 

Harry looks back towards the bench— but of course, Papa knows better than to be caught.

He draws his cloak around him, and steels himself for whatever will come next.

 

—

_**Seven Years Later…** _

With Ron and Hermione’s help, Harry at last defeats Lord Voldemort. He has been prepared for this moment, far more than the Order had ever suspected.

Yet when he stands outside the Great Hall, he feels alone— even with Ginny squeezing his hand, and Ron slinging an arm around his shoulder.

“Come on, let’s go somewhere quieter,” Hermione pleads. 

Harry isn’t the only one unnerved by the worshipful attention the entire castle is giving them.

They duck outside, and make their way to the lake. 

Everything feels surreal to Harry. All that he has fought for and sacrificed for has led up to this moment, and he still can’t believe that it’s over. 

He is adrift now, with no purpose and no family but the one he has made himself. They walk towards the boat dock, but Hermione stops them.

“Look!” she hisses. “There’s someone there!” 

They all halt. 

A dark-clothed man is climbing out of a boat, staggering as he struggles back onto land.

The face looks up— a familiar man, his long black hair gone grey, his face still scarred. But his black eyes are hesitant, but warm.

“Papa?” Harry croaks.

The man nods, but does not come any closer.

“What was the name of my bunny?” Harry asks, heart in his throat. 

His friends are looking confused between the two of them, some beginning to draw their wands.

The man gives a half-bark of a laugh.

“Bunbun,” he answers. “And what was the first thing I said to you, when we met?”

Harry is crying now; he can’t help himself.

“You were a friend of my mother’s, and you were here to take me somewhere safe.”

The man nods again, a small smile growing on his face.

Harry launches himself into Severus’ arms and cries. 

He cries for all the years he’s missed, he cries for the triumphs and failures Severus didn’t see, and he cries because Severus had to be a Death Eater while Harry had to be the Savior. They hadn’t gotten to be father and son for many long years. 

After quite some time, Harry releases Severus and steps back, taking Ginny’s hand in his own.

“Papa,” he says. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet. This is Ginny Weasley, my wife. Ginny, this is my father.”

And Severus shakes Ginny’s hand, full of wonder for the life that his son has created for himself.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Severus says, pride and joy filling his entire body. 

He is home at last, he thinks— with his son at his side, and the darkness of the world banished, however temporary, from their lives.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for riding the Skullshy Feels Train Express! :D
> 
> Though this fic has been short and succinct, I promise that I have more Harry Potter rattling around in my brain. No promises on timing, however! XD
> 
> As a general reminder, I usually go months without posting-- but when I do start posting, that means I've finished a fic.
> 
> I hope you all have a lovely March! :D


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